


First Time for Everything

by canis_m



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Bottom Original Percival Graves, Dom/sub Undertones, Dominant Bottom, Established Relationship, First Time Topping, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Sex Magic, if you can even call it that, submissive top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 10:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11355522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canis_m/pseuds/canis_m
Summary: What did it feel like, Credence had wondered, tracing with one finger the line of satisfaction along Mr. Graves' jaw.  He'd wondered aloud, and then Mr. Graves had cracked one eye open, tilted an eyebrow, and offered.  Easy as anything.  Without missing a beat.





	First Time for Everything

_You want to give it a whirl?_ Mr. Graves had asked.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time, as they drowsed in a rumple of pale sheets in Mr. Graves' bed. Good, or at least bravely adventurous. What did it feel like, Credence had wondered, tracing with one finger the line of satisfaction along Mr. Graves' jaw. He'd wondered aloud, and then Mr. Graves had cracked one eye open, tilted an eyebrow, and offered. Easy as anything. Without missing a beat.

When Credence managed a nod, Mr. Graves had disappeared into the bathroom, then padded back and settled on the bed. Now Credence knelt behind him, between his outstretched legs, staring at the prospect: Mr. Graves sprawled prone, chin on pillow, loose-limbed as an enormous cat. Another pillow under his hips propped them helpfully high. Lamplight pooled between his naked shoulders, golden in the small of his back. The contour of his spine suggested lazy invitation. It should've been encouraging, probably.

In his mind Credence had appended a _sometime_ to the _give it a whirl_. Some hazy future evening, when his hazy future self felt bolder than the present one. But Mr. Graves, man of action, had appended a _now_. Credence felt like an alley cat faced with a lounging jaguar, or a lamb that was supposed to have its way with a wolf.

It wasn't that Mr. Graves' rear end was unattractive. It was as well-made as the rest of him: handsome, shapely, muscular and dense. Credence stared at the curves of it, at the smattering of dark hairs below, at the wet gleam peeking from the cleft--which meant Mr. Graves had already cast a slickness spell, the same one he used on Credence when--

Credence swallowed. He laid a hand on Mr. Graves' hip, then twitched it back.

"I don't--" His voice wobbled. "I don't know if I--"

Mr. Graves' chin shifted on the pillow. After the long day and recent exertions, his hair was disheveled, strands escaping the hold of pomade to fall over his ears and brow. He hadn't bothered to re-compose it. He turned his face enough that Credence could see the patient humor there.

"Second thoughts?" he asked.

"...Tenth or twelfth."

Mr. Graves shifted to one side to better study him. "You're not going to hurt me, Credence," he said calmly. "It's going to be fine. Don't overthink it."

"You really...you really like it?" It might've been a foolish question, considering how much Credence liked it himself. But they liked different things, sometimes. Mr. Graves always said that was fine, too.

"With the right partner, sure. It's been a while."

Disquiet gave Credence pause. "What makes them right?"

"Somebody I respect, for starters. Who won't get the wrong idea." Mr. Graves drew a leg up, exposing more of the cleavage of his behind, along with a glimpse of ruddy pucker. Credence's head swam. He was supposed to put his--himself--right there. Up in. He managed not to quail.

"What kind of wrong idea?"

"Just because I let somebody in the back door, it doesn't mean they own the joint. Sure as hell doesn't mean they're running the show."

There'd been others. Credence knew there had been, of course, in the abstract--that Mr. Graves had had lovers before Credence even existed in the world--but now the thought intruded, unwelcome and stark. They took shape in his mind, crudely looming, the faceless men who'd done this with Mr. Graves. Done this for him, at his behest. Some with due deference, maybe. Some had thought having Mr. Graves under them meant Mr. Graves was beneath them. A roil of upset turned Credence's gut.

"I don't think that," he mumbled.

"I know you don't," said Mr. Graves. For a minute he eyed Credence, then reached to draw him in. "Baby, c'mere."

With a grateful exhalation Credence let himself be drawn, crawling to nestle down beside him. Mr. Graves' palm cupped the nape of his neck.

"You can change your mind, you know that." He spoke quietly. "You don't have to do anything you don't want."

"But...if you like it..."

"I like Quodpot, too, and I haven't played in twenty years. If you want to wait, we'll wait."

The offer of deferral was reassuring, enough that Credence shook his head. "I want to try. Just not, not like--"

Words failed him. He broke off, gazing in hopes of rescue at Mr. Graves.

Mr. Graves' eyes crinkled at the corners. "How about another tack, then." His hand slid downward, knuckles skimming Credence's belly to his drooping shaft. "You want to be good for me, don't you? You want to be my good boy?"

"Yes," whispered Credence, toes curling. He did, he always did. Relief tingled through his limbs, and with it preliminary pleasure. Maybe that was the crux of it: he wasn't like the others, the men who might've imagined they held some power, some shred of authority, if only the transient bodily kind, over Mr. Graves. Credence knew better. He was glad he did.

"All right." Mr. Graves kissed his head. "You just relax. Let me take care of everything."

Spelling his hand to slickness, he palmed Credence, firmly and sweetly, to coax lost eagerness back into his shaft. Credence sighed through his nose. He sank into the bedclothes when Mr. Graves rolled onto him, sliding a leg over his lap.

Mr. Graves straddled him, knees on either side of Credence's hips. He hunkered down to kiss Credence wetly, open-mouthed, then nosed and nipped at his ear.

"I'm going to put you in me now," he murmured. The wet heat of breath on Credence's earlobe sent shudders through him. "I want you to hold still for me, as much as you can. Think you can do that?"

His strong, broad hand brushed Credence's hair. Eyes fluttering, Credence nodded.

"Good."

Mr. Graves reared up. He splayed one hand on Credence's chest, over his skidding heart, and with the other reached back to put Credence in position, slick tip nestled between slick cheeks. Credence's whole body went taut.

"Easy," said Mr. Graves. "Keep breathing." He took a steady breath himself, then started to bear down. At first there was resistance--Credence gulped--and then with a sudden slippery give he was sheathed.

Wet heat clutched the length of him, smooth and shockingly tight. Credence arched. His jaw went slack. Then through the stupefaction he saw the furrow in Mr. Graves' brow, the curl of his lip, and panic dashed the heat. If Mr. Graves was hurt--if doing this had hurt him--dear God, please let the earth open up and swallow Credence whole. There had to be a spell for it.

His voice was a faint croak. "Mr. Graves--?"

Mr. Graves grunted. "Out of practice." He sounded rueful. "I'll try not to fall off the broom."

After some shifting he found an angle that seemed to better suit him. He sank again more slowly, and Credence felt some portion of tension ebb.

"There we go." He cracked a downward grin at Credence. "You okay?"

_Okay_ was hardly the word, but Credence nodded. He was _in_ Mr. Graves, seated deep, and if he held that thought in his head for longer than an instant, he was apt to fly apart at the seams. One way or another he was fraying.

"Ready for me to move?" asked Mr. Graves, and Credence squeezed his eyes shut tight.

"Please," he whispered.

Mr. Graves started to rock, unhurried, less up and down than forward and back. The slick, wet sounds of motion scalded Credence, somehow more scandalous than any other time before, but the surge of blinding sweetness through him drowned shame. Mr. Graves' weight pressed down on him, pinning; his body squeezed Credence in that clench of molten heat. Credence wanted to writhe, and couldn't. He found in himself a new sympathy for champagne: he was a bottle whose cork Mr. Graves was twisting, just about to pop.

"Now don't you come yet," said Mr. Graves, more amused than stern. "We're not done here."

However fervently Credence believed in obedience, his loins had other ideas. He sank his fingers into the mangled sheets. "Please," he whimpered, "please, I can't--"

Mr. Graves looked down at him with slitted eyes, cock jutting smartly over Credence's belly. Stilling his hips, he swiped a thumb over Credence's nipples, dragged a lazy finger across his chest.

"Can't you?"

When Credence answered with a piteous noise, he said, "All right, maybe you can't. But I need you to stay hard for me, sweetheart. You know what to use. Tell me."

Credence bit his bottom lip. He did know, but he couldn't cast it wandless. Mr. Graves knew he couldn't. His arm flopped toward the bedside table. " _Priap_ \--mmh."

Mr. Graves relented. He spread his palm where their bodies joined. _"Priapo,"_ he murmured, and then: _"Fianto Duri."_

It was, according to Mr. Graves, the most unorthodox use of _Fianto_ known to man. The jolt of magic steeled Credence, just as Mr. Graves tightened and bore down. The pleasure verged on pain. He stifled a cry. He couldn't buck, couldn't squirm, couldn't do anything but spend himself in helpless pulses, staying rigid even after he was spent. Mr. Graves rode him through it, unrelenting. Credence could only take what Mr. Graves gave him, what Mr. Graves allowed, just like when Mr. Graves was in him.

*

When it was over, Mr. Graves undid the spell. He heaved a sigh and draped himself over Credence, chest to chest, smearing the sticky mess between them.

Mashed under the full weight of him, Credence could scarcely get air into his lungs, and he didn't care. He loved it, loved the smell of sweat and dissolution, the scrape of stubble against his jaw as Mr. Graves nuzzled his face.

"What d'you think?" asked Mr. Graves at last. He roused enough to wave away the mess before resuming his sprawl, a panther on a comfortable branch. "Too soon to say?"

"It wasn't bad," said Credence. He didn't mean it as a comment on performance--only on his expanded understanding--but Mr. Graves' mouth twitched.

"Not bad, he says."

Credence blinked. "That's not--I didn't mean--!"

But Mr. Graves was smiling. With a lazy roll he upended their arrangement and settled Credence atop him, the better to finger-comb his hair. "You're fine. It's okay to like one more than the other."

Credence laid his chin on Mr. Graves' shoulder. "I think either is all right. As long as..."

"As?"

"You run the show," said Credence. He tried to muffle his smile on Mr. Graves' skin, without much success. Mr. Graves grasped a handful of his hair to tug it, then smoothed it down.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Spoiled rotten. Making the old man do all the work."

_You like it,_ Credence didn't say, because he was a very good boy--he had it on the best authority--and not at all a brat. Mr. Graves looked as if he'd heard the thought, no Legilimency required, and was nonetheless prepared to let it slide. With a flick of his finger he _Noxed_ the lamp.

"Lucky for you," he said in the dark, "I've got a hell of a work ethic."

**Author's Note:**

> For the Gradence fandom "Guess Who?" challenge. Guesses as to the author's identity are welcome!


End file.
